Chapter Six - Miss Nancy
For years, Belinda’s family couldn’t explain certain events, such as how Jenny managed to grab an open jug of acid and how the squirrels kept being slaughtered in their yard. As time went by, the squirrels became fewer in number, and their tiny corpses were less frequent.
Antonio couldn’t figure out who or what was killing them; the cameras could never record much other than distorted shadows.
But at the same time, he was also glad that something else was taking care of his squirrel problem.
His job was only to clean up the aftermath, the following morning on “Squirrel Day.” He stopped questioning the curious events, even though Miss Nancy would often harass him for answers.
“I expect a proper burial for those little angels!” Miss Nancy would shout every time Antonio ran past her house in the morning. “That bitch never sleeps,” he often thought.
“Mind your own business,” he’d shout back.
Camille had begun taking antidepressants, which often caused her to sleep during the day.
Belinda, now eighteen, didn’t need her mother as much as she did in earlier years.
Her parents never really fought, but they never showed affection either, both resigned to what had become of their lives, living in the void of their marriage.
Belinda, even at such an age, still carried her doll around. Camille would get mad at her and question her daughter’s mental state. But despite it all, Camille never showed much interest in uncovering her motives.
One day, a high school peer and neighbor named Briar dug through Belinda’s oversized backpack to play a prank on her. As she was about to pour a box of condoms and lube packets into Belinda’s bag, she noticed the doll hidden inside.
Without much to say, Briar paused and retreated from the bag. It was that day that she decided not to bother Belinda again. Even though no words were ever really exchanged, both girls would lock eyes every time they crossed paths.
Walking back home from school that spring afternoon, Belinda saw Miss Nancy watering her grass.
Now that the season had settled in, new blades of grass were making a greenery comeback.
A gentle, warm breeze brushed softly against her skin, and the sun felt comforting and bright.
Belinda loved walking home, often stopping by the mansion in hopes of catching a glimpse of its owner.
“Are you still eating them squirrels kid?” Miss Nancy shouted from her front porch as she closed the water hose valve.
“Pardon me?” Belinda said.
“Are. You. Still. Eating. Them. Squirrels? Did I stutter, kid?”
“I have never!” Belinda shouted back before starting to run home.
“Yeah, whatever. Go on and hide, just like your father,” sneered Miss Nancy, trying not to get her pink tracksuit wet. Her gray hair was neatly pulled back into a bun.
Belinda ran inside her home, slamming the door behind her. Camille sat on the kitchen table sewing a shirt when she saw her storm upstairs.
“What’s the matter?” Camille slurred.
“Nothing, I’ll be in my room,” Belinda replied.
Without further care, Camille returned to the shirt she was sewing, but not before pricking her finger. “Goddamn it!” A drop of blood stained the white shirt. “Great, my shirt is ruined, fucking kid.” She continued to mumble under her breath before popping a pill from her pocket into her mouth.
After throwing herself onto her bed, Belinda retrieved her doll from her enormous backpack.
Now her dress was old and ragged. Her hair had once been perfect, but now it had breakage from the many years of brushing.
The dolls’ eyes were more smudged now and what once was a beautiful smile, now looked like a darkened frown.
Belinda rubbed the doll’s hands, now gray in color and black around the nails. It gave her comfort.
While sobbing from the accusation, she lay in bed, her eyes heavy and her limbs limp. Belinda fell asleep before her tears had dried up; her mind dove deep into trance.
“Pin Pon es un muneco,
Macabro y pálido.
Se lava su carita,
Con sangre y ácido.
Pin Pon se desgarra el pelo,
Invocando un gran llanto,
Aunque se lo arranque todo,
él no para aquí.”
With her legs crossed, Belinda sat once again on an old, quilted blanket.
Brushing Pin’s hair, the air around them felt heavy and musky.
The gray clouds could be seen for miles; the grass on the ground was wet from a previous rain.
As she ran her brush down the doll’s hair, Belinda’s eyes were wide open and solid black.
She sang Pin Pong’s lullaby slowly and without an accent, as if she had spoken Spanish all her life.
The song came naturally, like she had known it all along.
Putting the brush down, Belinda turned the doll around to face her. The doll’s blacked out eyes met hers as she rested her cold hands in her lap while she continued to hum the lullaby.
The wind began to rise, fast and sharp, until everything around them spun like a cyclone.
“Kill. Kill. Kill them all.”
The wind carried the whisper of malevolent voices, low and insistent.
“Kill them all,” they hissed, circling Belinda’s head. The whispers grew louder, swelling into a chorus as they closed in.
“Kill them all,” Belinda echoed, her voice barely louder than the whispers, but unshaken.
The whispers surged again, shrieking through her skull like rusted nails scraping glass. The wind tore at her hair, yanking it in every direction. Strands slapped her cheeks, stuck to her lips, and curled around her throat like they meant to choke her.
The voices seemed to have hands of their own, clawing at invisible things that scraped her scalp, tugged at her skin, and grabbed fistfuls of her hair like they wanted to rip her open. It was not a breeze. It was not calm. It was chaos, a violent snarl of wind and madness.
“Kill them all,” she said again, firmer now.
Blood welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks like tears.
She couldn’t see, but she didn’t need to.
She could feel everything. The wind had stripped her bare, ripping away the emotions of her past and replacing them with the voices that clawed and whispered around her.
Her soul was growing weaker, but her body felt stronger, hardened, fueled by something ancient and cruel.
Now she could see the things Pin wanted her to see.
Her father’s past. The deaths of her grandparents, and every monstrous thing her mother and father had ever done.
Their sins were hers now, stitched into her skin like inherited scars.
And they would pay for what they had tried to bury.
They would pay for every scream they caused, and for every shadow of sorrow they left behind.
Remembering the whispers of that green-eyed woman, everything made sense now.
Belinda finally understood why her mother lived like a ghost, hollowed out and hidden, numb to anything real. Facing the truth would have shattered her. It would have driven her straight to suicide. So instead, she chose to sleep through it all. Day after day. Night after night.
“What is life when you’re already dead?” Belinda thought.
“You killed that slut first. Now kill the old bitch,” Pin said. Her voice was grim, cold as rot. It was the first time she had spoken aloud. “Eighteen at last!” Pin rejoiced.
In her mailbox was a letter that belonged to the Emmerson mansion. “What could it be?” Miss Nancy wondered. She lifted the letter towards the early morning sun, but the watermarks made its contents impossible to read.
After bringing the letter inside, she headed to the bathroom where she kept her hairdryer. After running hot air through the envelope’s glued tab, the stickiness loosened enough to be gently opened. Carefully, she removed its contents, unfolded the letter, and began to read.
“Savannah Emmerson, call us today about your car’s extended warranty!”
“What in the fuckery is this shit?” Miss Nancy growled as she placed the letter back in the envelope before sealing it again. “She can keep her goddamn trash,” she thought, as she headed towards the front door, mumbling obscenities under her breath.
After putting the letter into the mansion’s mailbox hanging outside the fence, she noticed Antonio running up from behind her. As he got closer, she stepped further away from the tall metal fence.
“Good morning,” Antonio politely announced.
“It would be good if the mailman wasn’t such chicken shit and stopped putting the wrong mail in my box!”
Antonio stopped running, aggravated by the old lady’s attitude. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I don’t blame the guy for not wanting to stop here. It gives me the chills just to look at this place.” Antonio continued.
“Tony, Tony, Tony, then why run through here every morning?” Miss Nancy asked.
“Uhm, excuse me?”
“Yeah, I find it very odd that you stop by these gates every morning.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You can’t hide from me, Tonnnny. You know her, don’t you?”
“No. You know, I’ve got to get going. Nice talking to you, as usual.” Before Antonio could continue running, Miss Nancy moved closer to him with more interrogatory questions.
“Did you know she was a brotherfucker?”
“No, she…They weren’t…” Antonio’s hands began to sweat.
“Ohhh, so you do know her.”
“Look, we did go to school together. A long time ago.”
“I know she was raped. I heard once that she killed Tripp, ate him, and buried him in her yard. Who knows how many bodies must be buried under that ground. Another reason why I never call the city on her; I’d rather not fuck around to find out!”
“What in the hell is your problem? Why don’t you ever mind your own business, eh? Also, I fucking hate being called Tony.”
“Damn, who shit in your cheerios today, A-N-T-O-N-I-O?”
“Unfuckingbelievable. And by the way, I hate that damn doll you gifted Belinda years ago. The doll is creepy.” Antonio took a few steps away from Miss Nancy before trying to walk away again.
“What doll? I’ve never given your demon child anything.”